


On Hockey, Tea, and Being Ordinary

by kattahj



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M, Hockey, Tea, Winter, first baby steps towards romance, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: Millie wants to play hockey. An easy enough wish to accomodate, though it turns out to be part and parcel of something bigger.





	On Hockey, Tea, and Being Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinealightonme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/gifts).



> Thanks to my wonderful betas, who have come to my rescue once again!

”I wish I could play hockey,” Millie said, chin resting on her hand as she looked out at the snowy landscape outside the window.

It was Boxing Day, Millie was home on holiday – or ”hols” as she insisted on calling it – and all the occupants of Chrestomanci Castle were having lunch.

Christopher pondered her statement. He’d played hockey a few times. It didn’t hold a candle to cricket, as far as he was concerned, and he didn’t know why it would make Millie look so wistful. Still, it seemed like an easy enough problem to fix.

“Why can’t you?” he asked.

“It’s not done in my school. The girls in the Millie books always play hockey and have jolly fun doing it.”

“You could do it here,” Christopher suggested. “Ice hockey, at least. It’s not weather for field hockey. Which do they play in the books?”

“Field hockey, I suppose. It just says hockey.”

“Well, ice hockey’s on skates. It’s a bit trickier, but we could give it a try. The ice on the lake is thick enough, and I think I’ve seen some skates in the garden shed. We’d need sticks of course, but those can’t be too hard to make.”

“There are hockey sticks in the shed too,” said Flavian, who had been listening. “We could all go out together, if you like. Do you know how to skate?”

“No,” Millie said, her face turning pink with excitement. “It will be my first time. Oh, how lovely! Can we really? I know it’s not traditional, but I don’t think I would enjoy boxing half as much.”

Christopher laughed. “You’re not actually supposed to box on Boxing Day!”

And so it was decided. Miss Rosalie and Tacroy tagged along too, which meant they might even split into teams if they wanted to do more than shoot a few pucks. The smallest pair of skates in the shed were still a size too large for Millie, but it took only a quick spell to make them fit.

Millie’s cheeks were still pink as they headed towards the lake, and she talked incessantly about the various hockey games in the Millie books, who had won which game, who had cheated or been injured or been a sore loser. The various names meant nothing to Christopher, who hadn’t yet managed to get through a single one of those books, but he was happy that Millie was happy.

Or at least she was for a while. Once they got out on the ice, her smile died away, and she stumbled across the slippery surface, face pinched in concentration as she tried to stay on her feet. She wasn’t at all bad, for a first attempt, but it would clearly be a while yet before she was ready to try a full hockey match.

Flavian proved to be a much better skater than cricket player, and he soon designated himself the task of guiding Millie along, hand on her arm to support her.

Christopher could keep himself upright without having to lean on the hockey stick, but that was the extent of his capabilities. Tacroy and Miss Rosalie were quite good skaters, and took little detours from the others, chasing each other across the ice.

“You’ll get the hang on it soon enough,” Miss Rosalie told Millie as she circled them, waiting for Tacroy to catch up with her. “You’re much more graceful than I was at first.”

Millie forced a smile, but she looked about ready to cry.

And then a bullfinch landed on the ice.

“I need you to come back to the castle right away,” the bullfinch said in Gabriel’s voice. “There’s been a new development concerning the magic thieves in world 6B.”

The gang packed up and headed back, all immediately serious again. Millie was quiet now, dragging her feet as if they hurt, even though they had all used magic to make sure they would get no blisters. When spoken to, she gave brief replies in a quiet voice, which wasn’t very Millie-like at all.

Christopher had hoped to be allowed to help out with the thieves in some way. After all, both he and Millie were accomplished enchanters, and this was surely an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation. Instead, the two of them were told to go off have tea on their own, like a pair of mere children.

Christopher sulked. So did Millie, though he suspected that had more to do with the hockey situation.

Halfway through her cup of tea, she sighed and brought the cup over to the window. It was closed, but she opened it now and unceremoniously poured the tea out into the snow.

Christopher blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I hate this tea!” she stated. “It’s weak and milky and horrible!”

Marching back to the table, she poured herself a new cup and muttered some kind of incantation over it. Then she added three spoonfuls of sugar, peeled an orange, and plopped some slices of that into the tea as well, rounding up with a dollop of blackberry jam.

As she drank, she glared daggers at Christopher, daring him to stop her. He had no intention of doing so, though he found it all very puzzling.

“Much better!” she said, putting the cup down.

He reached out a hand. “May I try it?”

Millie handed the cup over, and he drank. The tea was much stronger now, sweet and fruity, like a completely different drink.

“It’s good,” he offered.

Her shoulders deflated. “I’m tired of having milk in my tea. And ice hockey is hard, and school is... I know I wanted to be ordinary, but I’m not very good at it!”

At a loss for things to say, Christopher chose the only thing he could think of: “You don’t have to have milk in your tea.”

“The girls in my school laugh at me if I take it this way,” Millie said. “And they make fun of my accent, and say that I’m too fat and my complexion is too ruddy.”

Christopher got a sudden urge to grab a cricket bat and go talk to the girls in Millie’s school. “What a bunch of little nitwits!”

“Oh, they are! They’re awful. The whole school is awful. I’ve asked Gabriel to let me quit, but he won’t. He says he promised Mother Proudfoot I would have a proper education. But I don’t think Mother Proudfoot would ever stand for this. I used to be a Goddess! Not that I want to be,” she added. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I will get you out of there,” he promised. “I’ll think of a plan. Just wait and see.”

That made her smile. “You’re very sweet, but it’s really not your job to try to save me.”

“I will, though. Leave it to me, I’ll have it all figured out in no time. Don’t worry.”

Millie looked sceptical. She really didn’t trust his abilities enough.

“And you shouldn’t listen to those girls,” he said. “It’s not like your only choices are to be the Goddess or to be exactly like them. You could just be... you.”

“I’m not even sure I know who that is,” she said with a grimace.

“Well. It’s someone who likes jam and fruit in her tea. Which is... all right, a little bit strange, but nice. And it’s someone who’s just the right shape, with the right voice and the right complexion.”

He realized to his own surprise that he meant it. Of course he could tell that Millie wasn’t the most glamourous of girls, but he didn’t want her to be. He wanted her to be Millie, and no one could do it better.

Her eyes narrowed for a second, as if she suspected him of taking the mickey. Then she smiled and stood up.

“Don’t let this get to your head,” she said, “but at times I’m really glad I met you, Christopher Chant.”

Quickly, without meeting his gaze, she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, before hurrying off out of the room.

There was still some tea left in her cup. Christopher drank it up, slowly, chewing on the remaining slice of orange. His eyes lingered on the doorway where she had left.


End file.
